The nights were peaceful.
Yet there was always noise.
Most were familiar ones,
Usually just one of the boys.
These are the noises
That are comforting to hear.
Because they are a reminder
That I'm not alone in my fear.
As the evening progresses
And my senses become sharp,
I strain to hear everything
Coming from out of the dark.
I listen for a noise
That sounds out of place.
For every one I hear,
My heart begins to race.
It may be footsteps
Or a snap of a twig.
It may be nothing,
Yet it sounds so big.
I focus my eyes,
Toward the noise I've heard,
Trying to confirm something
Before passing the word.
I look at my watch
To see how much time is left,
Before I can wake someone
And get a few hours of rest.
It turns out to be nothing,
That I've heard from my front.
That's not uncommon though.
It's a typical night for a grunt.
Phil Thornton
1998
I started this poem a few years back. I had put it away and never intended
or expected to complete it. I found what little I had started writing (believe
me, it wasn't much) and decided to complete it and share it. It reflects
some of my thoughts while pulling guard after we had set up our perimeter
each night. For me, the nights were most stressful because I felt the enemy
knew our position, it was the time we were most vulnerable and they benefitted
from the element of surprise.